


Lost Dogs

by Lunatik_Pandora



Series: A Different Orbit [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Christmas, Depression, Drabble Sequence, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, HP Fanfic Club's Winter Writing Challenge 2020 #1, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, M/M, The lost years, Welsh Remus Lupin, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunatik_Pandora/pseuds/Lunatik_Pandora
Summary: The story of Remus Lupin in 12 Christmases. 1981 - 1992.A companion piece for "Ten". Written for the HP Fanfic Club's Winter Writing Challenge #1
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: A Different Orbit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632550
Comments: 94
Kudos: 26





	1. 1981 - Family

**Author's Note:**

> **Winner of the HP Fanfic Club's Winter Writing Challenge #1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"And all this terrible change has come about because he had ceased to believe himself and had taken to believing others."_  
>  \- Leo Tolsoy, "Resurrection"

“Happy Christmas, Lupin.” 

Alan leaned away slightly, avoiding touching him as he held the door open pointedly. Remus managed a smile he didn’t feel.

“Yeah. You too.”

He stepped out into the cold, jamming his hands into his pockets alongside his last paycheque.

The door slammed behind him.

Remus expected to feel upset. Instead: nothing. He supposed that on the scale of things that had happened to him over the last eight weeks, this didn’t quite rate. 

He placed his last cigarette between his lips and lit it.

There was Christmas music floating through the air from the pub next door. People were rushing about excitedly, preparing to spend the holidays with their families.

Remus’ family was dead.

The realization gripped him suddenly, a stone fist around his pounding heart. His brain disconnected from his body. He was unmoored.

(oh)

(there it is)

He lost the flat four weeks ago and his family was dead.

He’d just been sacked -- _again_ \-- and his family was dead.

Sirius was --

(nonononono not there not now)

Everything was too loud, _too close_ , music blaring like klaxons, laughter like nails on a chalkboard, skin crawling, ears ringing, _drowning_ \--

It was Christmas and Remus’ family was dead.

Something in him _twisted_ , and his wrist twisted with it, Switching his still-lit cigarette with a bottle of Lagavulin off the top shelf. No one noticed; he wouldn’t have cared if they had.

There was nothing left now but to toast the dead.


	2. 1982 - Blizzard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"All were happy -- plants, birds, insects and children. But grown-up people -- adult men and women -- never left off cheating and tormenting themselves and one another."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

It had snowed again, a few nights ago -- a right proper blizzard, drifts up to his eyes in some places -- and Remus couldn’t be arsed to dig himself out properly.

It didn’t matter. Nothing to do, no one to see anyway.

His stomach growled, and he took inventory: half a loaf of bread and some rice, enough to last through the new year if he was careful. Three tins of beans. A pack of Park Drives and some instant coffee.

Christmas dinner looked promising.

Remus grabbed a cigarette; it took the edge off, and was cheaper than food besides. He could almost imagine Sirius’ exasperated sigh--

(don't)

He wasn’t supposed to think about _Him_. 

Ever. 

It was a Rule.

Rules were the only thing that got him out of bed these days, tightly managed routines and rituals to keep him moving, day after day after day.

Do: get up by 8 o’clock. Shower. Have a coffee. Check the wards. Double check them. Look for work. Watch the moon (full in six days). Eat at least once a day, twice if he could manage. Make or mend what he needed.

Don’t: medicate outside the full. Waste _anything_. Think about _Him_.

If he kept to the Rules, he’d be fine.

Eventually. 

It had only been a year, after all. He was managing well enough. 

He was _fine_.

(if he repeated it often enough maybe it would start to sound true)


	3. 1983 - Spice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"No, what they considered sacred and important were their own devices for wielding power over each other."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

He woke up furious, cursing the season.

Two years -- two _fucking_ years -- of keeping it together (barely with duct tape and desperation but _managing_ ) and all it had taken was a whiff of mulling spices to have Remus breaking every rule he'd set himself.

(don’t medicate outside the full don’t waste anything don’t think about him don’t think about him)

He'd only been out to the shops to get eggs. That's all he wanted. Just a carton of eggs.

He woke up with a monstrous hangover and a _septum piercing_ , of all bloody things.

No eggs, of course.

(don’t think about him)

The smell lingered on his jacket: leather and anise, cedar and cardamom, cinnamon and citrus and cloves. A hint of tobacco. 

(a knife-sharp grin dark hair tangled in his fingers warm breath on his neck)

_He_ had smelled like warmth and home, and those were things Remus knew he'd never have again.

_He_ had burned everything down.

( _“Harry, look who it is!” Tiny, chubby hands reaching for him. “Moo!”_ )

Everything.

It was fine. He didn't need it. He was fine.

( _“Happy Christmas, mon loup.”_ )

He rolled over, retching and swearing violently at the floorboards in three languages.

(and if he didn’t think about why he knew how to call himself an arsehole in french it didn’t hurt)

He was fine.


	4. 1984 - Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"He had committed no evil action, but, what was far worse than an evil action, he had entertained evil thoughts, whence evil actions proceed."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

Remus had come to hate the time around the new moon.

He used to look forward to it; the time when the moon’s pull was weakest, when he felt the most awake -- alive -- like himself.

Remus didn’t want to feel like himself anymore though, so it rather soured him on the whole experience.

The last few years, Christmas had fallen close enough to the full that he was able to use it as an excuse to effectively skip the day entirely. Not so, this year.

(don’t medicate outside the full)

He’d made exceptions before, of course. Just for Bad Days -- days when he couldn’t get out of bed, when just breathing took everything he had.

(don’t medicate outside the full)

He _really_ didn’t want to sit at home alone and think about why he was sitting home alone.

(don’t medicate outside the full)

He didn’t want to go out either; he kept doing stupid shite when he went out. He was up to five piercings now, and couldn’t remember getting any of them. Socializing, such as it was, cost more money (and dignity) than he could afford.

(don’t medicate outside the full)

Anyway, it was quicker than liquor. Less volume for greater effect. 

It was only practical, really. The economic option.

(don’t--)

Just once couldn’t hurt. A gift to himself, for surviving another year. That’s all. Happy fuckin’ Christmas.

Just once.

He’d be fine.

He _was_ fine.

Honest.


	5. 1985 - Fleece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"An evil action may not be repeated, and can be repented of; but evil thoughts generate all evil actions."_  
>  -Leo Tolstoy, Resurrection

The clock read 3:45. Whether that was morning or afternoon, he hadn't the foggiest.

It didn't matter.

Remus burrowed back into his fleece blanket. It, like him, was worn out and desperately in need of a wash. He just couldn't be bothered. 

Bothering meant getting up, which meant facing the day -- or night, _whatever_ \-- and that just wasn't in the cards.

They were playing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen over the speakers at work and he kept hearing Sirius and James purposely singing it wrong, so he'd ducked into the loo to make it stop.

(make it stop make it stop)

It had. But so had he.

It was almost _refreshing_ to be sacked for something that was actually his fault for once. 

(going on the nod on the clock y twpsyn serves you right)

It was fine. _He_ was fine, he just needed to get through the full -- through the holidays -- and he'd get himself straightened out.

He would. Honest.

He'd start following his Rules again, no exceptions.

Remus was fine. He _was_.

(the moon was two days out but already gnawing on his bones crawling in his veins again)

(make it stop make it stop)

He rolled over, burying his face in his pillow, and swallowed down his screams.


	6. 1986 - Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"An evil action only smooths the path for other evil acts; evil thoughts uncontrollably drag one along that path."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, Resurrection

He had no idea what her name was.

He knew she played bass for the band that had performed awful Christmas covers at the club that night -- Remus used to play, but _He_ had apparently gotten rid of his guitar while he'd been gone.

(so i pawned off your strat to pay for the tent)

He knew she had long dark hair (like yours) and pale grey eyes (like yours) and a smile sharp enough to kill (close enough).

(it was a little necessity and a little revenge)

He found her backstage after the show. She sized him up in half a second, took another half to make the call.

(you knew mam gave me that guitar)

He met her in her hotel room. She met him in her bed.

(you knew it was all i had)

She asked about his lilies--

"Friends died."

(you knew and you did it anyway)

\-- he asked about her stars.

"Just fancied em."

(she didn't ask about your pawprint)

He stayed the week. She helped him cut his hair and dye it green. He helped her breathe when she OD'd.

(no one ever asks and i don't think about it)

He cleaned her hotel room -- and cleaned it out before calling 999.

(what the fuck is wrong with me)

He went home and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. Glassy silver eyes stared sightlessly back.

Like stars.

He was fine. Just fine.

(sometimes i think you're what's wrong with me)


	7. 1987 - Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"One of the commonest and most generally accepted delusions is that every man can be qualified in some particular way -- said to be kind, wicked, stupid, energetic, apathetic, and so on. People are not like that."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, Resurrection

Stan was late.

He said he'd be there at 9, and it was 9:05 and he still hadn't showed and Remus was going spare.

(you've never been on time to anything in your life you bloody hypocrite)

(shut it)

Now, yes, it _was_ Christmas Eve, and yes, most (normal) people were at home with their families (lucky bastards), but they had an _arrangement_.

(you're never going looking for him)

(not that desperate yet thank you)

(aren't you)

He wasn't. He was _fine_.

Remus popped a few icicles off the side of the phone booth to keep his hands busy. He was out of cigarettes again.

(you're shaking)

(it’s fucking freezing out here)

(you know that's not it)

(fuck off)

It was easy to ignore the sensible voice in his head when it sounded like _Him_.

A twitchy, rat-faced man slouched up next to him. He stilled.

“Have you got it?” A curt nod. “How much?”

“Fifty.” Remus swore.

“It was forty last time.”

“Holiday special. Take it or walk.”

(that’s all you have remus)

(it’s fine i’ll figure something out)

Twenty minutes later his empty cupboards and empty pockets didn’t seem so terrifying. 

Nothing did.

He was fine.


	8. 1988 - Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"We may say of a man that he is more often kind than cruel, more often wise than stupid, more often energetic than apathetic or vice versa; but it could never be true to say of one man that he is kind or wise, and of another that he is wicked or stupid. Yet we are always classifying mankind in this way. And it is wrong."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

He awoke to a horror scene: blinding pain and the overwhelming stench of blood.

Remus stood, swaying on his feet -- dripping blood _everywhere _\-- and staggered over to the mirror above the sink.__

__(you forgot to take your piercings out you dolt)_ _

__Apparently Moony hadn't taken kindly to having _things_ in his face. He'd shredded himself to bits in his attempts to tear them all out. Thankfully, despite his obvious best efforts, he hadn't managed any but the lip ring. A Christmas miracle._ _

__(point in favor of sedation)_ _

__Remus touched his mouth gingerly; that particular gash had gone deep, bisecting his lip. It would scar._ _

__(another one to add to the collection)_ _

__He slowly removed his remaining piercings; the bar from his eyebrow, two studs and a ring on the right ear, three studs on the left. His septum ring went last._ _

__All of his piercings were steel except that one. He'd charmed it silver, for the aesthetic._ _

__It wasn't because Sirius once commented that gold was Remus' color, and he hated proving him right._ _

__(now who's a liar)_ _

__Remus healed his lip carefully in the mirror, looking himself over with eyes that were still wolfish from the night before. He considered this, and the siren call of the needle and spoon in the other room._ _

__(you've never been good at following rules)_ _

__He told himself he was fine._ _

__(if you repeat a word often enough it loses all meaning)_ _

__It was true. Gold really _was_ his color._ _


	9. 1989 - Crackling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Human beings are like rivers; the water is one and the same in all of them but every river is narrow in some places, flows swifter in others; here it is broad, there still, or clear, or cold, or muddy or warm. It is the same with men."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

He was curled up in front of the hearth with Sirius, a book open in his lap. 

"What are we reading today, love?" 

" _Resurrection_."

"Ah, Tolstoy." Sirius shook his head, grinning. "A little philosophical for Christmastime, you think?"

"'Every man bears within him the germs of every human quality,'" Remus quoted. "'And now manifests one, now another'--"

"--'And frequently is quite unlike himself, while still remaining the same man.' Always liked that line."

"Swot." Remus leaned back, basking in their combined warmth. Sirius pressed a kiss into his hair.

"Remember that line when you wake up," he whispered. Remus froze, confused. "Remember _me._ "

"Sirius, what--?"

" _Wake up._ "

He blinked, and suddenly he was alone. 

Sirius was gone.

...No, that wasn't quite right.

Sirius was in Azkaban, and had been for years.

Sirius had betrayed them all and left Remus alone.

(just a dream)

The crackling of flames was real enough. His cigarette had fallen from his fingers when he'd nodded off, catching the rug. He put it out with a flick of his wrist.

Remus thought of the dream he'd woken from, a fierce longing gripping him.

(not real)

Reality was far colder. He knew it well.

(i'm so tired)

He missed the warmth. He missed _Sirius_. The one he'd thought he'd known.

( _"I wish you'd love yourself as much as I love you."_ )

(oh but i do)

An ugly sob tore from his throat.

(i should have known)

He let it happen.


	10. 1990 - Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Things may be treated without love; one may chop wood, make bricks, forge iron without love, but one can no more deal with people without love than one can handle bees without care."_  
>  \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

His cupboards were empty again.

He was also flat broke, but the Muggles didn’t need to know that.

Remus pulled on the first pair of trousers he could get his hands on; an old pair of stovepipe denim jeans. The back left pocket was missing and there was a giant hole in the right knee. Baggy, but clean enough to wear. He dug out a belt: a massive studded monstrosity.

They called women built like Sirius ‘willowy.’ Remus had been slim as well, but his bones were built for muscle he didn’t have, so he’d been lanky and awkward instead.

Remus never used to fit into Sirius' clothes.

He tightened Sirius' belt to the last hole. 

(good enough)

He pulled on an old jumper with patches on the elbows. It looked about eight sizes too big. His skin felt about eight sizes too small.

(it’s fine it's fine)

He went outside. There was a downed tree lying directly in front of his tent, scarcely a meter from the entryway.

Remus snorted, sharp and bitter.

"You fuckin' missed, mate."

He shouldn't be rude; poor bastard was probably just minding its own business when its whole world uprooted, leaving it shattered and dead inside.

Honestly he'd never related so fucking hard to a tree in his life. Other than tall jokes, anyway.

Trees didn't have to steal to eat, though.

( _“-- And frequently is quite unlike himself, while remaining the same man.”_ )

He Disapparated.

It was necessary.


	11. 1991 - Dreary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"“How can you possibly hope to reform her after the life she's been leading?'_  
>  _'It's not her I'm wanting to reform - it's me,' he replied."_  
>  -Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

Another moon under his belt. They were hard, but getting easier every month.

The holidays were another story.

He'd nearly faltered on Halloween -- always a tough one, with Sirius' birthday right behind it. But he'd kept busy and distracted himself and only thought about calling Jerry twice.

...In an hour. 

(it was progress)

He didn't have anyone to keep him accountable but himself, and nothing to work towards but the memory of that bright-eyed boy, too skinny and small for his age, but living and breathing and _real_.

(he was right there)

Shame had broken him. But he remembered why he lived.

So he rebuilt himself.

(i'll write him when i'm better and i'm not terrified of damaging him just breathing the same air)

He'd spent a decade fading in and out, drifting in a dreary, lifeless existence. He was committing to a different sort of monotony now.

Get up by 6 o’clock. Shower. Have a coffee. Check the wards. Double check them. Go to work. Watch the moon. Eat at least once a day, twice if he could manage. Make or mend what he needed.

Don't call Jerry.

He kept busy. Fixed the mirror in the bath. Reupholstered the couch. Reorganized the spice cabinet. 

...Eight times.

Still couldn't get the bloodstain out of the table, though. The wood drank it up like wine.

It was dead boring, but that was fine.

 _He_ wasn't fine. 

But he was damned well going to _try_.


	12. 1992 - Travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _'I can't imagine you happy.'  
>  'That's not the point.'  
> 'Of course it isn't. But if she has a heart, she can't be happy either. She can't want you to do that.'  
> 'No, she doesn't.'  
> 'I see. But life...'  
> 'What about life?'  
> 'Life demands something different.'  
> 'Life only wants us to do the right things,' said Nekhlyudov."_  
> \- Leo Tolstoy, "Resurrection"

"Oh! Remus, the paratha!" He turned mid-step and allowed Hira to stuff the foil-wrapped bread into one of the bags.

"Anything else?" She frowned, counting off.

"Saag paneer, chicken korma, two orders of vindaloo, the aloo paratha…"

"And?" The girl swore suddenly, rushing back to the kitchen to grab the rogan josh she'd forgotten. Her mother clucked disapprovingly from the counter.

"I worry for her." Remus shrugged. Hira was a sweet girl, but scattered. He tutored her and her little brother on the side; their parents were quite pleased with their progress.

Remus knew a bit about giving someone the right tools to succeed.

"She'll get there, Sudha. Give her time."

Hira came running from the kitchen with the container of rogan josh in one hand and a bit of paratha in the other.

"Here!" She shoved the bread into his mouth. "Baba says you're too skinny."

Remus huffed out a laugh and winked at her in thanks, paratha held firmly between his teeth as he left to make his delivery across town.

Tomorrow, he'd be on a plane to Jaipur; Sudha and Vijay had spent weeks convincing him to go.

"It'll be good for your health," they insisted. 

They also insisted he'd have a place with them whenever he returned.

He was very sorry to leave them. 

He was also sorry he hadn’t written Harry (he still wasn’t ready.)

But for the first time in a long time…

He finally felt like everything was going to be fine.


End file.
